#18 - Santa Barbara

In early December, 2009, only two short months after my seventeenth marathon in Long beach I toed the line for at the inaugural marathon in Santa Barbara, California. I was excited about the race because I love that area of our Golden State, it is scenic, rich in history, next to the ocean, and just a two hour drive north from my house.  I went into it with the mind set of, “just enjoy the day”, because anything would be better than Long Beach.  However, as the weekend approached I felt suffocated by guilt of having to flee Hannah’s playoff soccer game early that Saturday in order to high tail it north in time to check in for the race, because I was told there was “no race day” check in.  Hannah’s team was not amazing, they probably would not win this game, but I was the team parent, and had never missed one of her practices let alone a game all season.  I felt like I was not only abandoning her, but her fellow players, and their parents who looked to me for guidance for when to bring snacks, and what time to wake their kids up for games each week, etc.  I walked off the field with a heavy heart before the whistle blew and drove as fast as the law allowed to make the cut off time to pick up my bib. 

 The jolly 4AM bus ride to the starting line was straight up the 101 to an elementary school where they dropped us off and loaded us in to a multi-purpose room of sorts to sit and wait for nearly two hours until the race started at 7AM.  I did not mind the cattle pin like enclosure because it was freezing outside, and my cold threshold is fragile at best.  I chatted up a newbie marathoner who was racing her first marathon, my favorite, fresh meat.  I tried my best to both excite and calm her nerves for the big day she had ahead of her, but soon enough we were both on our feet and stepping outside to get our last potty stop and stretches in before the start. 

The sun was gently peeking out above the mountains to our backs when the gun fired and we were off!  The pace was fast, too fast, but I went with the flow the first few miles, then settled into more mortal like pace between miles five and six.  We were running directly into the sun for the first ten miles which was comfy and warm, but a tad blinding, still it made sense because this was virtually a point to point race, remember the bus ride earlier?  However, I am partial to loops, just ask Marion, I am famous or infamous for the “loop” training courses I have devised for myself for both run and bike training, so my brain was a little frazzled that I would be running in one direction for the majority of the marathon.  Nevertheless, I felt good, and just aimed for a solid, steady race.

All was right with the world until we entered into a beautiful and quaint neighborhood just past mile fifteen.  I took in water and electrolytes at the aid station, but I was feeling lightheaded and somber, and slowed to a barely jogging pace to take stock in what was going on.  I felt alone, and overwhelmed with guilt that I had left Hannah’s game early to come run this race by myself among thousands of strangers; I questioned my crazed level of selfishness, and started to get angry.  Suddenly, I heard Marion’s voice in my head screaming at me to “GO!” and make he and Hannah proud, so I picked up my feet from their self-loathing trot and started to run.

I was going in and out of feeling strong and slow through out the bulk of the miles, but I never felt a long stretch of amazing.  I just couldn't shift into the "kick ass" gear I needed to run faster.  I was enjoying the course, my pace was quicker than Long Beach, thankfully, but I was still unsatisfied, something was off.

The "you've got to be kidding me?" part of the day was when I turned left and stared straight into the bottom of a long climb to reach mile twenty four, brutal.  **I have a quick note to all you race directors and/or prospective race directors, please do not place the largest hill on your courses at mile twenty four, it is both cruel and a PR crusher, thank you.  I “ran” up the hill and down the other side to make another left turn along the ocean toward the finish line.  I was surrounded my happy runners and ecstatic spectators, but I drowned out their positivity and only heard the slow thump of my broken heart as I crossed the line in 3:55.  The look on my face and posture said it all; I was disappointed and confused with my performance.

While licking my wounds on the drive home down the coast I decided I needed a break from stand alone marathons, and shift my concentration solely to triathlon.